It had all started relatively innocently. As innocent things go, this was of course not to last. The entire palace was soon in an uproar - from the prince's third cousins twice removed to the kitchen staff.
The day had started relatively peacefully. As peaceful, that is, as things can ever be in a Noldorin household great or small. Yes, there was some intense debate that would perhaps have been called "fighting" by some of its more sensitive Sindarin inhabitants. A maiden who according to the official annals spent most of her time weaving or embroidering was in fact down at the stables, stealing one of the larger stallions for a joyride. And the way the stronghold's cook lovingly coaxed the chickens into the soup by singing them beautiful Quenyan lullabies usually used for children could, in fact, be described as somewhat alarming. The elvish way with all good beasts indeed.
The cause of the current uproar, however, was brought inside the walls and in fact also quite near the open heart by one Finrod Felagund, who was usually not known as a troublemaker. A bit of an eccentric, sure, but mostly harmless. Or so the Noldorin population had thought up till this point. This time, however, he had brought what he called "one of the secondborn" and the majority of the people present called "one of those sickly weak things who slightly resemble one of our own". This alone would have been enough for some uproar, as the wrinkled creature was quite a novelty. Though the Sindar muttered and sputtered and attempted to blend in with their surroundings whenever it looked their way, many of the Noldor openly gawked. The surgeons and chroniclers most of all, but many of the maidens as well. It could probably be attributed to the attention of the latter that the creature did not start to sputter and attempt to blend in with the environment himself, as the attention he currently received was not quite of the same kind as he had received from Finrod before. Whereas Finrod wanted to hear what he had to say, these looked more like they wanted to see what his vocal chords looked like and whether they were in fact of inferior quality.
The afternoon more or less processed in the same fashion. At long last someone someone realised the secondborn were probably more easily hungry, and handed the old man the afternoon's fare - a delicious bean dish, consisting of many different coloured beans of all species available for trade in the area. Even with about ten pairs of eyes registering his every move, the Atan still seemed to be able to enjoy his meal. Finrod was most relieved to see this, as he still had quite a lot of questions and his interviewees had the tendency to die before they ever really got to answering all of them. After a while, the gawking had even subsided a bit, as they all sat around the heart fire and someone started to sing a ballad about the superiority of Noldorin craftswork in all things. One thing led to another, and the chroniclers, surgeons and their subject of study found they had at least one thing in common: jokes about dwarves. The Atan visibly started to relax, even if there still were some slightly startling gazes in his general direction on occasion. But all in all, Finrod's evening entertainment seemed to have turned out for the better. He was just about to say so to one of the many nobles who crowded the place when the evening took a distinct turn for the worse.
The noise, was, I am ashamed to say, entirely lost to keen elven ears. This could partly be attributed to the bawdy songs about dwarven habits and height many of the Quendi present were at this point singing. Or maybe it was the cackling of the fire that disguised it. Or perhaps this old man was just particularly stealthy in ways the Eldar had not yet imagined.
But fact was no one heard it.
They did, however, smell it.
"...and that's why dwaaarves don't-" A suddenly silence descended upon the formerly rather rowdy room. One of the lords stood up slowly, one hand on the hilt of his long sword. The ladies drew together and blinked fearfully. Well, some of them. Several actually grabbed the nearest sharply pointed tableware and held it in a most warlike manner. Anyway.
"By Varda!" one particularly lordly lord shouted, nay, declared. "Show yourself, you foul servant of Moringotto!"
There was a silence. Several people eyed each other fearfully. A tear glid down a maiden's cheek. Or perhaps it was one of the young men present. Fact was though, they were all quite nervous about the whole thing. That is, everyone except the Atan present, who was mostly confused, if not a little nervous about such tall people being nervous about anything.
"We know you are here! Do not disguise yourself!" the lord in question bellowed "We were taught by the Valar themselves and will not tolerate your foul presence in our stronghold!"
There was, once again, a silence. A slightly more awkward than anxious one this time, though it was still definitely rather anxious. You can only wave a sword through the air without result so many times before starting to look silly, however. No one at this point was very keen to face this fact because looking silly is not a nice thing to admit in a crisis situation involving an invisible evil Maia. And so there was silence. Until...
"Brrrttt" said the Atan.
Fourty-five almost perfectly shaped heads snapped in his direction. The Atan had the decency to look vaguely embarrassed. Finrod coughed.
"Ah yes" he said. "they do that".
And so the Noldorin court was introduced to the strange human habit of farting. Some of the more conservative Quendi are to this day convinced that their occasional involuntary emitting of foul smells is in some way related to their being tainted by Morgoth.
Others abide by the opinion that the secondborn are just disgusting in general.
The latter opinion is, sadly, by far more prevalent.
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notes: Inspired by the fact that disembodied Maiar can be identified by smell alone. If they turned to evil, their smell too became foul.
I don't know if Elves fart. They probably do. However, it is much more fun to pretend that they don't.
Concrit is, of course, welcome as always.
I'm not yet sure what chapter this is! It does, however, belong to the And After A Time The Elf-Kings story. I just seem to be unable to write things in the right order so far, and luckily this one is quite understandable without that. I think it's the second or maybe third chapter. Not sure yet!
